Half A Year Now

low angle photo of bird flying during night
Photo by Martin Lopez on Pexels.com

It’ll be twenty-six weeks tomorrow and six months on Wednesday since Peter died. It’s been half a year I have been without my person in my life, without half of me, without my best friend, lover and forever spouse. Nearing these milestones, I want to share what I know now, spending half a year without him.

1). I miss him today as I did when he died. I miss him with the totality of me. Yes, I have learned to live with the pain of my longings like a person with a chronic illness, or an absent limb, but I will never stop hurting or be able to ignore the loss of him in my life. Every day I carry the knowing, the feeling, part of me was cut off in a suddenness that still leaves me stunned.  Yet I have built myself up enough, more than when this all first began, to at least be adequately standing to accomplish things, move ahead and be productive. For now, I will take all of that, no matter how numb I am as I move, I will take all of that.

2). As I have mentioned a few times, this is an act I must perform alone on my life’s stage. I have the support, the kindness, the friendships of so many people, the people who have watched me, held me up and caught me. They are in my audience, waiting to help. Still, it is me on my own stage, deciding my own ways, feeling my own feels, struggling with my own struggles, and knowing my own experiences. I still am in awe of all I have received and continue to get from the people in my life. And I will grasp onto their hand and lean on their shoulder, only there are coming more and more times where I need to learn to stand on my own. In every new dawn, and in every darkness of the night, it is me who lives with this and has to continue to live in this, and I must learn how on my own.

3). My apartment Discovery is beautiful. I adore the views, feel it’s comfort and healing. I know, every day, I am lucky to be staying here at a time where I need to recover and try to figure out how to live again. Questions on how I can afford it will never be answered so stop asking.  Jokes on living the high life, or anything else of the type, will be snapped back with a “but I sure paid a price, didn’t I?”.  And any other innuendos or not well thought out statements will not be batted back with eye rolls or a sneer. I can’t help it. Even knowing ill-feelings are not most people’s intention, I am at a sensitive point in my life. As an overly sensitive person as it is, this is not attractive on me. I take comments personally as if this is all something I wanted. This may not deserved reactions from me, and I apologize in advance. Just know, I would give everything back, trade in the view, the building, the comfort, all of it, to have Peter back. I wouldn’t need Discovery if Peter was alive anyway. But he’s not and I need it, to do what was best for me.

4). I am still living in a fog of uncertainty. Despite decisions made and moving along, I have no goals right now. long or short term. I have no energy or desire to set any. I kept excusing my lack of effort with “I need to get through the holidays”, and to a certain extent, I was right. Yet, I also know I am exhausted just getting through the past six months. I celebrate the little victories of calling someone to get my furnace replaced, my TV fixed, installing Quicken, paying bills, and all the other mundane tasks. I drained all of my reserves to get through the Holidays and Peter’s Birthday. I don’t have the energy or want to think, “Okay, what do I want to do now”.  This includes neglecting the PR work for my book. God, it was a horrible time for my book to come out. Maybe it’s okay to look at what’s right in front of me than what’s down the road. Maybe it’s not as I do like a plan and to look forward to something to propel me. I am a dreamer and I do like to dream. Yet, I can’t dream anymore without Peter in them. So, until I figure out how to get the part of me who looks toward a future, I don’t care. I have to get through the day. And in the evening, when I go to bed, and I can say to myself “this day wasn’t so bad”, maybe even add an “it was pleasant”, or “it was fun”, I will feel accomplished in my fog.

5). I am learning more about me than I ever thought possible. During this most difficult part of my life, I am growing to understand more. The dependency I had on Peter – the one so strong I didn’t know a life without it and was fearful of thoughts on my own – is gone. I allowed myself to be swept up in a role because it comforted me and I knew it was Peter’s love language. Never had I thought I would be without him or would have no time to prepare if he did leave. I thought I would be taken cared of for the rest of my life. I would die before Peter so I let him take on everything. Unfair to both of us, yet it was our world, our marriage, one that worked for twenty-eight years. But that didn’t happen. God, the Universe, Death, dumped on me this life I hadn’t known, at least not since my single days.  I had to fight through all the insecurities, all the not knowing, all the learning curves. And look at me. I’m still here. I cannot tell you how much this amazes me. Besides the birth of my two children, this has been my biggest accomplishment in life. And one I hold onto when I feel myself slipping into the “I just can’t anymore” moments. Because I can. Because I have, this half-year without Peter.